


black, white and grey

by technicolouredmonochrome



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gavin is a Serial Killer, M/M, Multi, OCs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-02 17:13:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technicolouredmonochrome/pseuds/technicolouredmonochrome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The body on the floor is almost completely bled out. Gavin lies down, presses himself into the stone-cold concrete beside the bashed in head and <i>breathes</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. cerulean blue

**Author's Note:**

> So this is me experimenting. It has tons of trigger warnings, mostly consisting hints of violence, blood, and rather descriptive injuries on the part of the victim. This is a serial killer!Gavin AU with mayvin, just because I can.

The body on the floor is almost completely bled out. Gavin lies down, presses himself into the stone-cold concrete beside the bashed in head and _breathes_.

Something cool and wet hits the side of his face, pools around his head until all he can hear is a wet squish against his ear. The head of the man is turned away from him, but Gavin doesn’t need to see his face to know that it’s completely wrecked.

(After all, he was the one who put it in that state.)

A stone lies a short distance away, and his toe keeps nudging it as he breathes and breathes and breathes.

There is a muted roaring in his ears, a rapidly fading buzz that has all his nerve endings sizzling out in the humid dampness of the night. At the back of his mind, there is a pleasant thrumming sensation, similar to what one would feel after an orgasm. (Except Gavin actually has to _work_ to get an orgasm, what with lying words and a charming smile.

This? This is so much easier. And the returns are only second to doing drugs.)

The smell around him is heady, addictive, _thrilling_ , and he presses his nose against the man’s neck, trying to breathe in more, more and more. The puddle keeps growing around him, and the smell is seeping onto the cotton of his shirt and wrapping itself around him, clouding his senses until all he see is the muted brightness of the moon.

It’s only when he sits up that he notices all the blue.

Deep cerulean blue, that’s staining his clothes and his hands, seeping across the floor and into the man’s shirt, crawling up the skin on his forearms and dripping down the sides of the man’s head. Gavin places his hands into the stagnant pool of colour, curls his fingers into the liquid and brings his hands up against the moonlight.

Deep, deep cerulean blue.

Gavin was colourblind, but now he sees.

So he paints, paints with the blue staining his fingertips, dips his toes in the colour and runs along the alleyway, streaks his fingers against the walls and jumps and spins and turns. Blue, blue, deep cerulean blue that’s colouring the grey and the white and the black.

He kneels back down beside the body when the paint has dried out and is caking the underneath of his fingernails, cradles the messy pulp that was once the man’s face and soothes his thumb over the broken neck, dipping his fingers into the dents in his skull and the space which once used to be his nose. Brings his fingers into the man’s mouth and scoops out the blue pooling between his lips and _breathes_.

This is the first night he finds cerulean blue.

He finds it in a man, probably no older than fifty, hair swept off to the side and face smooth and clean shaven, a small smile on his face as he mumbles into his phone. Gavin wraps the chloroform tinted cloth over his mouth when he hangs up.

“Mmph,” is all he gets out before he’s out cold, eyes closed and slumped heavily against Gavin. After that, it’s all just a small matter of finding an empty alleyway and a rock to finish what started a long time ago. And when he sees the blue crusting and staining the white in his nails, he knows that he still has a long way to go.

But it’s nearly midnight now, so Gavin cleans up the mess of blue with the thrumming slowing to small, dull thuds, bags the body and throws it into the furthest dumpster, positive that no one will ever find it.

He’s done it enough times now to know that no one will.

And once he’s freshened up in his small rented apartment, landlady sound asleep and completely unaware that she’s housing a serial killer, he heads back _home_ , and curls into the bed around the smaller frame of Ray, whose head is buried in Michael’s chest.

“Hey,” Michael whispers, a sleepy smile on his face. Gavin returns it with a grin of his own.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“It’s alright,” Ray yawns. “You’re here now.” He turns and curls into Gavin. A heartbeat later, he feels fingers lacing with his own.

Michael squeezes his hand and he squeezes back, tousling his other hand in Ray’s hair and _breathes_.

(They smell of washed up sunshine and rumpled sheets. Gavin wonders, for the briefest of moments, if they will bleed out gold if he slits their throats.)

“Gavin?” Ray whispers after a beat, voice heavy with sleep, eyes quickly losing their focus.

“Yeah?”

“You smell like cashmere sweaters. And the sky.”

“And a box of Crayola,” Michael adds, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

“Do I?” Gavin asks, and Michael offers him a small chuckle which he returns with another squeeze of their interlaced fingers. They don’t say anything else more.

“I found blue today,” he whispers when their breathing finally evens out. “ _Cerulean_ blue.”

They don’t respond, but he doesn’t need them to, and they stay that way, silent, and breathing into the quiet of the night.


	2. lilac purple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a lady tonight.
> 
> Her hair is a soft brown, curls ending below her shoulder. He’s mesmerised, watching as they bounce with each step she takes, reddish-brown highlights catching light in each street lamp she passes through. There are earphones in her ears, the music echoing softly in the otherwise empty street, and he makes out the faint sounds of her humming along.
> 
> If Gavin didn’t already have Ray and Michael, he would definitely have kept her for himself.

It’s a lady tonight.

Her hair is a soft brown, curls ending below her shoulder. He’s mesmerised, watching as they bounce with each step she takes, reddish-brown highlights catching light in each street lamp she passes through. There are earphones in her ears, the music echoing softly in the otherwise empty street, and he makes out the faint sounds of her humming along.

If Gavin didn’t already have Ray and Michael, he would definitely have kept her for himself.

He clutches the handkerchief in his hand, the chloroform cool against the rubber of his glove. When she passes the streetlamp two feet away from him, he spurs himself into action. In a single motion, he has the hand with the handkerchief over her mouth and the other hooked under her arms, keeping her locked tight against him as she struggles violently, once, twice, and then goes completely still. He drags her into the side alley he had been waiting in and lays her carefully on the floor, hair spreading around her prone form like a dark halo.

Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.

He presses a hand against her forehead and breathes her in, body still warm, heart thrumming erratically beneath his fingertips. After a minute of just enjoying the adrenaline from the chase, he draws his knife and makes the first slice along the inside of her wrist. The blood oozes out, a slow, wet trickle that run along the tips of his fingers. But it’s not enough,  _not enough_ , so he pierces her heart and waits for the blood to run stagnant in her veins. She convulses once, and stills, breathing slowing and slowing and slowing to a halt as she lies there, mouth agape in the last words she had desperately tried to form on her lips.

She hadn’t even had the chance to see who killed her.

But those matters are for later, when he lies in his bed and sees vacant eyes staring at him in the darkness. For now, he undresses her, watching the pale skin glow in the moonlight, the white luminosity perpetrating through his hands that are splayed on her stomach.

She smells sweet, like flowers and quiet summer nights.

He carves a circle on her abdomen, watches the colour slowly seep out. But it’s not enough,  _not enough_ , so he presses harder, deeper, until he starts scooping out portion after portion and segment after segment of her stomach, till its hollowed out and all that’s left is an empty hole where there once was warm, alive flesh.

There it is, pooling in the crevice, collecting in the shadows of her insides. Gavin dips his hand in, feels the warmth of the liquid between his fingertips, and after a breath, pulls his hand out and brings his hand up against the moonlight.

It catches on the light, a light, light purple that glistens and glows.

It’s absolutely beautiful.

He scoops it up, a handful, throws it into the air and watches it scatter in the wind, droplets landing on the walls and floor, bright spots of lilac purple flying through the air. Dipping his hand into the pool of colour again, he paints on the white of her skin a heart, a smile, a flower. He digs his fingertips into the soft flesh at her hipbone, watching the purple crescents that stains the white, and brings his hand down, again and again and again until the lilac is a never ending trickle against her sides, until his nails are stained with their colour and his fingers glowing soft, bright purple in the night.

He’s never felt more  _alive_.

She dries out far too soon, blood turning cold and crusting in the ridges of his palm. He relishes the feeling of lilac purple on his outstretched hand, staining his wrists and the walls the floors, just purple, purple, purple everywhere he looks (and it’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.)

When he crawls into bed that night, Ray wrinkles his nose in distaste and flips himself over Michael, pushing him into the middle.

Gavin is vaguely offended.

“You smell like fucking lavender man,” Ray protests from the other side of Michael. “I hate lavender.”

“Plus that fucking crayon smell is back again,” Michael laughs, leaning into Gavin’s side and breathing into the skin between his neck and his shoulder. “What did you do? Take a bath in crayola?”

(For a moment, Gavin realises how easy it would be to kill the both of them, lean forward and give a quick snap of his wrists, hear the crack of the bones in their necks and watch the expression on their faces freeze into one of horror, betrayal,  _hurt_. He’ll whisper  _sorry_ over and over and over again, but their expression won’t change; their blood however, bright and golden and  _breathtakingly beautiful_ , will be absolutely worth it.

And just as abruptly as that notion entires his mind, it’s gone.)

He strokes a thumb down the line of Michael’s jugular, feels him swallow against the slight pressure. Ray has his fingers tangled with his somewhere above their heads, and an arm wrapped around Michael’s middle as he snuggles closer and closer still to him. Gavin smiles.

“Maybe,” he sighs, and thinks of lilac and the colour of sunsets. “What do you think of lilac curtains?”

Michael scoffs. “I think that’s fucking gay.”

Ray laughs softly and squeezes him a little. “Our room could do with some colour though.”

And as they bicker, Gavin finds himself slowly drifting away, into the darkness where one new pair of outstretched arms are wide open, waiting for him to join them in the fiery depths of his dreams.

(There is lilac purple staining her fingertips and her neck and her teeth.

“Hello Gavin Free,” she grins, eyes blown and hair blowing in the wind. “Welcome to hell.”)


End file.
